language

sold

this morning, i woke up nervous. it's the annual oyster run, the one day of the year our tiny town swarms with all the leather and chrome clad bikers you could possible squeeze into a quarter mile square. now don't get me wrong: i love bikers. i've always adored the culture, the "wind in your hair, let it all hang out" mentality. i come from a family of bikers, and i know what it means to really feel the open road and all the elements coming at you, playing chicken. it's a totally unique form of adrenaline, a oneness with the out of doors that you just can't get in any air-conditioned car. and for that reason, i celebrate bikers, for their bravery, and for their passion.

i suppose then, what was making me most nervous is the noise. that, plus the exhaust fumes. and maybe the alcohol consumption. all of it combined, well, it just grates on me after a while, drowning my peaceful rural refuge in rattling windows and the persistent wap wap wap!! of tailpipes, constant like heavy machinery. so when this morning began with a downpour, you'd think i'd be relieved by the lack of bikers. nope. i missed them like you miss having family reunions. i missed the bad with the good, and that festive feeling all around. instead, what we were left with were swarming police, checking the roads like a mother wipes her own baby's ass: until it's clean. now i'm biting my tongue, i've changed my mind. so here we all are, locals stupidly lookin at each other like "where is everyone?". call me crazy, but i'd choose bikers over cops, any day of the week.

oh, yeah, and a footnote: this is my fiftieth painting, and my second adventure into a new realm of work, mixing typography with image. if i'm right, and if it is true that animals are just as smart as humans, with completely unique personalities and languages all their own, then this image speaks to that notion.

neil young: unknown legend